Untitled
by Josephine de Chagny
Summary: A dark corridor. An angry phantom. Christine was running for her life, but will she ever remember what- or who- she was really running from?
1. Chapter 1

Christine's footfalls were light against the cool, damp floor of the corridor through which she ran. Clutching her skirts tightly in her fists and glancing over her shoulder every few seconds in a vain attempt at gauging how close behind the Phantom was. Between her heavy breathing and the echoing footsteps of both Christine and the man who pursued her, she couldn't tell if he was directly behind her or far down the corridor.

She knew it wouldn't matter, in her fear she'd run off blindly. Each turn she'd made had been random. She had no idea where she was going, nor had she any idea how to get back to the Phantom's cellar home or her dressing room.

Her legs felt like they were on fire as she pushed on, splashing through an icy puddle before losing her footing and crashing head-first to the ground. A cry escaped her lips, quieted as the darkness seemed to consume her.

The last thing she was aware of was the slow, deliberate footfalls of someone wearing fancy shoes as they sauntered toward her down the corridor.

Christine woke with a start, her breath caught in her throat and her curls tangled around her face. Blinking hard, she realized that she wasn't in the same all-encompassing darkness that had plagued even her dreams-

-had it all been simply that, a dream? She sat up and looked around, finding that she was in her dressing room. The mirror was in its place, and none of the shadows in the room had an overly-mannish quality to them, so she decided she must be alone… But she couldn't remember getting back to her dressing room.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself to her feet, she felt at once light-headed and overcome with an incredible headache. As she sank back into the cushion, her mind raced to make sense of the thoughts swimming through her head. She could still hear his shouting as he chased her, but what had she done to anger him so?

The singing lesson had gone well, quite well. He'd commented about how much she'd improved from last week. The way he had stared at her while she'd sung- it was a look of complete adoration and it had both pleased and frightened her. Something about the way that bloated lip looked when he smiled…

She shuddered just remembering that look, that piercing stare. Reliving those moments, she could almost pinpoint the moment he'd grown angry- she'd opened her mouth and said something, but what? She couldn't remember. In her mind, her words were mush, but his rang clear.

"Do you honestly think you could last one _day_ here, where the sun dare not shine? I suppose you forget about the fate of those who aren't yourself or the vicomte."

He'd slammed his fist against his organ, and she'd needed to shield her ears from the horrible sound that bellowed from the instrument. She could still hear his voice ringing in her ears, but not with the clarity of that one statement.

How now had she angered her angel of music?

The masked man sat at his organ, elbows resting heavily on the keys. The sound that emanated from the instrument was fitting for his mood. It nearly matched the low growl that came from somewhere deep in his chest. _Fool_, he thought, clawing at his head as he slowly rested his forehead against the keys as well, adding to the strange, sour harmony that echoed through the underbelly of the opera house.


	2. Chapter 2

"Christine?" Meg Giry's voice roused her once more, and Christine sat up quickly as she realized how awkwardly she had been sprawled across the lounge in her dressing room. Three strong, confident raps against her door. "Christine, are you in there?"

"One moment," Christine groaned as she stood up. Her head was throbbing worse than it had been when she'd first woken up, but now she had a reason to keep going. As she unlatched the door, it burst open and Meg Giry nearly threw herself on her friend.

"Christine! Are you all right? Everyone's been looking for you, I've been worried sick!" the girl cried. As she pulled back to take inventory of her friend and be certain that Christine Daae was all right, she clasped her hands over her mouth.

"What is it?" Christine asked, taken aback by the girl's sudden movement.

"What did you do to your head? You've got stitches down your forehead!" Meg squeaked. Christine's hands flew to her face, where her fingertips confirmed what Meg had just told her. She felt the color drain from her face as she realized the only person who would have been able to stitch her up. "Whoa, easy now," Meg said, easing Christine to the floor as her legs gave out.

"Christine!" a familiar voice- too familiar- cried. White-gloved hands took Christine gently by the shoulders, and Raoul seamlessly took Meg's place in front of the shaken soprano. "Where have you been? It's been three days!"

"Three- Three days?" Christine asked, wide-eyed, "You must be joking!"

Meg shook her head. "We searched high and low for you, but couldn't find even a trace!"

"What happened to you?" Raoul asked, carefully running his thumb over the long line of stitches that went back past her hairline. She winced as the throbbing pain intensified at his touch.

"I… I don't remember. The last thing I remember was…" she closed her eyes, thinking hard. She couldn't tell them where she had really been- could she? Raoul would be frightened for her safety, if he believed what she told him. "I was leaving rehearsal last night- er, three nights ago now, I suppose."

"Come, let us get you to a warmer place. Your skin is like ice, Christine!" Raoul said, helping her back to her feet.

Deep below the opera house, Erik was hurriedly packing his things. He didn't know if he would be leaving for good, but he knew he could no longer stay. The temptation to watch Christine, to gaze longingly at the life she could have with her beauty and talent, was too great, and he was simply too angry to allow himself to be near her again.

As Raoul helped Christine into his carriage, she could've sworn she saw a black horse take off into the night bearing a passenger clad entirely in black save for a white mask.

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews this story has received so far! I apologize if it comes out a bit slowly, I'm trying to finish up some updates for my older fics: This Angel In Hell and Something To Sing About, so until those updates are up this fic might just be a bit slow to update. **


	3. Chapter 3

Raoul insisted that Christine stay with him that night, and he hovered nearby while a doctor looked at Christine's head.

"You're quite lucky," the doctor told her as he studied the stitches that went past her hairline, "whoever stitched you up has steady hands. And you're sure you don't remember what happened?"

Christine shook her head. "I was just finishing up with a rehearsal, and then the next thing I knew it was three days later and I was waking up in my dressing room!" she said. She was growing weary of repeating the story over and over. "Really now, none of this is necessary. I'm sure I'll be just fine with some rest."

"Christine," Raoul started, but he seemed to forget what he had been about to say as he quickly closed his mouth. "Never mind," he said.

Raoul escorted the doctor out to his carriage, and when he returned to the sitting room, he found Christine fast asleep- or at least pretending to be.

—

Erik was grateful for the ever-present cacophony of his horse's hooves against the ground. It helped drown out his thoughts, something he was quite eager to do.

But as the moon began to set, giving way to the countless stars that dotted the sky and just the slightest hint of sunrise on the horizon, Erik slowed and stopped the horse, dismounting at the top of a hill and allowing the animal to wander. Far behind him, he could see the bright lights of Paris against the horizon. He'd travelled quite far in the darkness, but it wasn't far enough. He still had the compulsion to go back and find Christine.

Even after what he'd done, when he thought of Christine, thought of her voice… He wanted to slap himself in the face for wanting to be near her still. _Was very nearly causing her death not enough for you?_ he demanded of himself, _you do not deserve to be near her. _

Behind him, the horse he'd borrowed without any intention of returning was grazing and slowly wandering down the hill.

—

Christine, wrapped in a dressing gown and draped with a long, silken blanket, stood at the sitting room window and watched as the household jerked to life. She had been awake since only a few hours after bidding Raoul goodnight, and being alone for so long had afforded her plenty of time to think, but she still couldn't remember what she had said to Erik in order to anger him so. She could remember so much more of that night, but not a single word she'd said.

She dreaded returning to the opera house that day, but she knew she didn't have much choice. She couldn't just abandon her job, especially now that they were in rehearsals for a new production. Her part, while silent, was still quite important.

And she most definitely did not want to even think about the horrible things that Carlotta might say if she were to abandon the production.

—

Raoul woke only after the sun was high in the sky, and it took him more than an hour to get ready for the day. When he finally made his way down to the breakfast table, he was greeted by Christine's smiling- albeit tired- face. Of course, he only saw the smile.

"You look like you're feeling better today," he said as he sat down. Christine nodded and returned her attention to her food. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fairly well," Christine said quietly, "I really should be getting to the opera house, I'm sure we'll be starting rehearsals early today to make up for whatever time was spent looking for me." She still felt kinda bad for the time and resources spent trying to find her.

"I'm sure they'll understand if you take an extended break," Raoul protested, but Christine shook her head.

"I can't, Raoul."

"What really happened, Christine?" he asked, exasperated, "why are you being so secretive?"

"How am I being secretive?" Christine demanded, "I've accepted every choice you've made for me since I woke up in my dressing room, but I"m feeling much better today, Raoul. I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions." She was in awe of how passionately she was arguing for something she was dreading.


	4. Chapter 4

Standing in front of the opera house, Christine looked up at the looming structure and gulped. Raoul had been gracious enough to bring her there himself, but he had needed to be elsewhere that morning and couldn't accompany her inside, and so there she stood out in front, unable to force herself to go inside.

Christine fought with herself for several minutes before finally forcing herself to go inside. She was greeted almost immediately by Meg.

"I wasn't expecting you to come today!" she exclaimed as she all but ran to Christine and flung her arms around her, "Nobody was. Not after how you were found yesterday…" The blond girl trailed off, looking wistfully over Christine's shoulder at nothing in particular. Christine shook her head.

"I couldn't stay another minute with Raoul," she lied, casually shrugging her shoulders, "He's far too over-protective. It drives me mad." When Meg didn't immediately reply, Christine scoured her face for signs that she didn't believe her.

"It means he loves you, you know," Meg said finally, "he was worried sick when you just disappeared like that. Are you sure you don't remember anything else that happened?"

Christine shook her head. "It's all such a blur, it feels like a dream. I don't know what I remember."

She had expected a lecture the moment she'd stepped back into her dressing room, but she was greeted only by a strange, empty sort of silence. Her footsteps seemed to echo even more than normal. Christine wasn't about to complain about it though; she relished in the feeling of being alone in her dressing room as she quickly pulled on her costume and stood in front of the mirror trying to pin her hair down for the wig she would be wearing. It was the first time she'd truly been alone in months!

Once ready, she made her way out to the stage, where she found most of the rest of the cast loafing about, some in costume, some not. It took her a moment to see _why_. Carlotta was not among them, which struck Christine as strange. She could've sworn she'd heard Carlotta trilling and humming when she'd entered the opera house.

"Where is she now?" Christine asked. Nobody seemed to know.

"Probably off having another one of her tantrums," Meg muttered as she walked over to her friend. Christine couldn't suppress her giggling at the girl's remark. "What?" Meg asked, straight-faced, "It's probably true." Christine swatted playfully at her.

"It's not very nice," she said, finally managing to stop laughing.

"Everybody go home, we've no rehearsal today. It seems that Carlotta has broken her leg. She'll be out until she's mobile," M. Andre said as he stormed down one of the aisles toward the stage.

"Why not have Christine take the part?" Meg asked as the entire ensemble began to collectively protest. Christine stepped back, shaking her head. Andre turned and looked Christine directly in the eye as he replied.

"That is something we cannot do."

"Why not? The crowd loved her last time," Meg demanded.

"It is not your concern. We will return to rehearsals for Il Muto in two weeks." A collective groan rose from the cast, and Christine ducked out, hurrying back to her dressing room. _Two weeks? That hardly seems long enough for a broken leg to heal,_ she thought. _What has he done?_

"Christine, where are you going? Wait up!" Meg called, but Christine was into her dressing room with the door locked long before Meg reached her.


	5. Chapter 5

She couldn't bear it. Christine hated it when Erik shut her out. The silent treatment was one thing she couldn't bear. So, in the absence of rehearsals that day, she changed back into her own clothing, lit a candle to light her way, and opened the mirror. Her footsteps echoed endlessly, as though the corridor she was about to walk through was completely empty.

The air was stale, more so than usual. Before she got too far down the tunnel, she turned back and retrieved a scarf from her wardrobe. There was no telling just what breathing that stale air could do to her voice!

She knew enough of the way by memory, having been down to Erik's home quite often for voice lessons, and that made her feel even sillier for the blind way she had run through the corridors when he had been chasing her.

It wasn't until she grew quite near to his home that she grew confused. Usually, Erik would meet her somewhere along the way, if he didn't escort her from the mirror. Though she paid diligent attention most of the time, she never could remember if she was supposed to go left or right at the last fork. She could hear trickling water and knew that the lake was nearby, but she couldn't quite tell what direction it was coming from.

"Erik?" she called, "I've come to apologize." No answer. "Erik?"

She debated for quite a while before finally picking a direction to go.

Unfortunately, she picked wrong, and four steps down the hallway, she laid her foot down, expecting to meet the floor-

-but was met with void.


End file.
